Liza Minnelli Stepping Out! 2015

Friday, February 27, 2009

Liza Minnelli Tells All to Liz Smith PARADE magazine...

Editor’s Note: The following story is reprinted by permission of Parade Magazine, and appears in their March 1 issue. Here’s a peek at what’s to come — plus tidbits too big to make it into the magazine. Click here to see the fabulous Parade layout and photos of the legendary performer."If you’ve got one foot in yesterday, and one foot in tomorrow, you’re pissing all over today!"That’s Liza Minnelli, more or less summing up her amazing resilience, her ability to live in the now. The great star — the Oscar, Tony, Emmy and Grammy winner — who describes herself simply as "a modern vaudevillian," is fresh off her triumphant five-week run at the legendary Palace Theater on Broadway. This is the very spot where her mother, Judy Garland, made history — not once, not twice, but three times. Liza herself played the Palace in 1999 in a show that paid homage to her father, film director Vincente Minnelli."Liza’s at the Palace" (now out on CD) was conceived in part as a tribute to her entertainer/author godmother Kay Thompson, whose performing style influenced many an MGM star, including Miss Garland — Judy appropriated a passel of Thompson gestures and cadences. Kay Thompson is best remembered today as the author of the "Eloise" books. (But check out the movie "Funny Face" with Fred Astaire and Audrey Hepburn to see Kay in glorious action, singing "Think Pink.")I’ve known Liza many years. I’ve seen — and even helped see her through — some of her well-publicized travails. The marriages to Peter Allen, Jack Haley Jr., Mark Gero and — gulp! — David Gest that ended, inevitably, in divorce; the substance-abuse issues, which dogged her for years. What strikes me always is this girl’s ability to banish the blues, bury the bad and start out all over again. (Yes, she is still girlish and fresh at 62.)When Liza walks into a room or appears, a dazzling figure onstage, I seem to hear the lyrics of the song "Optimistic Voices" from "The Wizard of Oz." We are, all of us, Munchkins, singing: "You’re out of the woods, you’re out of the dark, you’re out of the night/Step into the sun, step into the light/Hold onto your heart/Hold onto your hope."Liza has, over and over again, stepped into the light and held onto her heart and hope. That is the empowerment she delivers to her audience. Yet, what most journalists still want from Liza is a temporary abandonment of hope, so that she can tell The Shocking Truth of her life. The tell-all interview. The myth-shattering memoir. So silly. Why? Because over the course of 40 years, Liza has told that tale — in increments, with humor, with a wry nod indicating, "Please be smart enough to read between the lines." She’s gone as far as she’ll go. It is not in her nature to look back in anger or sadness. And it’s not an act. When you meet her at her best you’ll find nothing irrational about her optimism. She has a naked need for approval, and she always receives it. How can you not help build her up, and give her what she must have to go on?

"They think, ‘Oh, she can’t see out here.’ But I can. I can see at least the first eight rows and a lot in the balcony." "So people better react?""Yes! Every once in a while there’ll be somebody up close I’m not getting to. I can see it. I can feel it. I go backstage and I’m like, ‘Who is that guy? Why isn’t he into it? I’m gonna get him!’""And do you?""Oh, yes."She smiles again. This time she allows a moment of self-satisfaction, of pride in her power to move. Liza Minnelli gives more credit to others than any star I’ve ever known, but in her heart, she knows she is alone with her talent, up there onstage.And then she is finally gone, out on Fifth Avenue, stopping passersby in their tracks — all in black, moving like a woman half her age, still vibrant and gamine, still Liza. And damn if I don’t hear that tune: "You’re out of the woods/You’re out of the dark/You’re out of the night …"

I tell her how moved — and astonished — I was that she sang her mother’s famous "Palace Medley.""Ah, yes. Something else that didn’t initially go over too well with some people. It was like, ‘Oh, singing your mother’s songs now?’ And it was not that at all. I’d always promised my mother I wouldn’t, but at the Palace this time, I wanted to convey what the theater meant to me, and how I got to this place. One of my most vivid early memories of my mother is onstage at the Palace. For the first time, I realized the power of her voice. The power to move an audience. I could see them, I could hear them. I didn’t know then what the Palace meant to performers, to my mother, but it made an incredible impression on me. So I wanted to pay tribute to the Palace, what it means. My mother’s song seems best suited, and yes — it’s a tribute to her, as well."Since she seems comfortable with the subject, I ask, "You never worry about the inevitable comparisons?"Liza rolls her eyes expressively "No. Look, I’m the child of famous parents. This is how it goes if you’re that child: ‘Oh, so and so just wrote a book, did a show, whatever, and it was great.’ The response is, ‘Well, of course.’ If it goes, ‘So and so flopped,’ the response is, ‘Well, of course.’ There’s no winning, so you might as well just forget to be worried over that.""I remember reading once that you said, ‘I am my mother’s daughter. Who should I sound like, Peggy Lee?’"Liza’s enormous dark eyes become owlish with glee. "I said that? That’s very funny. I have to remember that.""Do you wait with dread for the ‘Judy questions?’""Not at all. I expect them. Why not? The thing is, they want the ‘Judy Garland Story.’ I don’t have that. You can read that in some biography written by somebody who never met her. I have the story of my mother. The lady who made me do my homework. The lady who asked if I wanted Italian or Chinese after she got off stage. I knew something of ‘Judy Garland’ later, after I became a woman working in show business myself. But the story of my funny mother … I suppose that can be a letdown to some." Liza places her hand flat on the tiny table we share. "She raised three children, and very well. That’s my Judy Garland story.""But people still see …" Liza interrupts, "I know, the tragic butterfly. But there was so much laughter and humor. The other side? Well, she always said, ‘Sympathy is my business.’""You differ in your own persona and choice of material …""It’s more upbeat, it has more hope. Even when Mama sang happy, it was like, ‘Don’t worry, folks, we’re getting to the sad stuff!’""So, you’re not nostalgic in a sad way?""No. I look back, but in appreciation. I don’t wish I was ‘back then’ or ‘back then with what I know now.’ Completely pointless.""Do you think that’s why you are able to come back, be strong, survive and thrive?""Listen, that is how I was taught. I was not taught self-pity. I was not taught to give up. I was taught to do what I think and follow a dream. Nobody in my life, not my father, my mother, Kay, Freb Ebb and John Kander — my wonderful composers who ‘invented’ what I do onstage — ever encouraged me to give in or compromise."

At this point we discuss her terrible bout with brain encephalitis, a period during which I saw a good deal of her. She’d already been in and out of rehab, endured hip replacements and struggled with an inherited curvature of the spine, which could cripple her, if she didn’t exercise daily."Darling, surely at that point you must have had some doubts about your own ability to rise again?""Liz, the doctors came in and said, ‘You’ll probably never walk again. You’ll never dance or sing. Accept this. Your performing career is over.’ Obviously, this was not good news, and at first I panicked. How would I go on? How would I make a living? The doctors had said, ‘You’re lucky to be alive,’ and I thought ‘Bullshit! This is not living.’ So I lay there, and I thought, ‘Liza what do you do best?’ And the answer came — rehearse! I love to rehearse. And so I literally rehearsed my way back. I walked, I talked, I sang, I danced. I looked on my recovery as a performance. The performance of my life, which it literally was."I have to admit, she is pretty damn inspiring. I say, "People don’t realize that it isn’t just luck that you are still here. You have incredible discipline.""I’m a dancer. I’m an athlete. Yes, I think when you have that basis, there’s an overall discipline."Liza looks so, I don’t know, on fire. I blurt out, "You should write a book.""Ugh … never! I would never reveal …""No, no, not a memoir, an inspirational book — how to survive."The star laughs merrily. "Well, I never give people advice, and I’d never write a book giving advice. But, if I did, I’d encourage curiosity — about everything. I’m the daughter of a director. I ask questions. I’d encourage banishing fear and shame from your life. Fear and shame — out!! So many people make all their decisions based on those two things. Re-teach yourself, re-educate yourself." "You fear nothing?""Yes. Organizing a closet! I mean it. I’m hopeless in all that. If you judged me by those skills, you’d say, ‘She can’t possibly get it together to go onstage!"Liza’s ability to "get it together onstage" has, sometimes in the past, been compromised by her issues with drink[ing] and perhaps a pill or two. In that vein, I ask, "Do you fear falling off the wagon? I think now if you even look at a drink, you go get help, no fuss.""You are so right! And no, I don’t fear it. I deal with it. For me, and for a lot of people, once you really see it is a disease, you learn to treat it as a disease, not a moral failure."Given that I was a guest at her last wedding and attended the reception, which was one of the greatest parties ever — I’m not kidding! — I feel duty bound to travel a tricky road. "Liza, I don’t think we can avoid some probing into your personal life.""You mean this hasn’t been?!""Darling, brace yourself. Will you ever marry again?"Liza makes a mock-choking sound, and points at the tape recorder: "Turn that off and let me run outside and have a cigarette!" And although it is about 12 degrees outside, Liza indeed runs out, coatless, lights up, has a couple of puffs and comes back in.She looks vastly amused. "OK, put it back on. Are you kidding? Never! Never!""So, you regret your marriages …"

She shakes her head vehemently, "Wronnnnggg! Not at all. Not at all.""Ummm … Not even the last one, the circus event?" (Neither of us utter the name — David Gest.)Liza leans in and whispers huskily, "Darling, I was recovering from brain encephalitis! No. No. I don’t regret any of them. I mean Peter Allen. Liz — I was with him when he died, he was a great love. Jack Haley was a genius, a wonderful man. And Mark Gero … well, that was hard. That breakup was hard. We were together 12 years. I really regret we couldn’t make it. He wanted children, and I couldn’t have them — you know, he lives in Croatia now, and is married and has four wonderful children and a divine wife! But it wasn’t just children. I just don’t think it’s fair, it’s too hard on any man to be married to a woman like me." "A woman like you?!""Yes, a famous woman. With all that goes with it. No matter how successful the man is, it’s hard for him to take. And maybe it’s politically incorrect to say, but — I get it. I’m not going to refuse that autograph. I’m not going to deny that photographer. I certainly won’t stop touring. It’s too hard on any man."I am a bit flabbergasted. In all my years knowing Liza, I never heard this. "But Liza, it’s not like you were Sadie Smith. When you married, they all knew …""Oh, but see — I was Sadie Smith. That’s what I tried to be in the beginning, with all my men. What they wanted. But as unfair as it was to them, it was unfair to me. I’m not Sadie Smith. I’m Liza Minnelli. I want to be Liza Minnelli. And I must say, I’m sooooooo happy now." "Do you think your life would have been different, had you had a child?"Liza’s face, always so expressive, looks both pensive and bemused. "Yes, of course it would have been different. I would have had a child. But maybe that’s why it didn’t happen." "What do you mean?""Well, Kay Thompson was a wonderful godmother to me. Now I am a wonderful — I hope! — godmother and aunt to the children in my life. I work a lot with brain-damaged children. Would that work, would those relationships be what they are now, were I raising my own children? The fact is — I wanted children. I couldn’t have them. That’s how it turned out. I cannot look around and say I have nothing else in my life, just because I didn’t have a child.""And you have your audiences, they mean so much to you.""Yes. But, that’s part of my work, my job. You do something you love; you want who you’re working for to love it, too, right?"Will you ever stop doing it?"Liza looks at me like I am hanging upside down by my ankles. "What, working?!""Working at this level. Do you ever see a single baby spot, a beaded gown and a lot of ballads — sort of Dietrich?I’m still hanging from the ceiling. "Liz! Nope. I’m a dancer. I have to move. Also, I don’t think I’d look that good standing still in a beaded gown." "I think your audience would love you whatever you did." The star gives a little Cheshire Cat smile, "Hmmm … maybe. But that won’t be what I do!" Liza announces she must fly, because she has a doctor’s appointment. She stands, gathers her coat and purse, but after we embrace and say our good-byes, she adds — although the subject is minutes in the past — "Speaking of the audience, you know, people think I can’t see the audience, because of the lights and also, my eyelashes!

"They think, ‘Oh, she can’t see out here.’ But I can. I can see at least the first eight rows and a lot in the balcony." "So people better react?""Yes! Every once in a while there’ll be somebody up close I’m not getting to. I can see it. I can feel it. I go backstage and I’m like, ‘Who is that guy? Why isn’t he into it? I’m gonna get him!’""And do you?""Oh, yes."She smiles again. This time she allows a moment of self-satisfaction, of pride in her power to move. Liza Minnelli gives more credit to others than any star I’ve ever known, but in her heart, she knows she is alone with her talent, up there onstage.And then she is finally gone, out on Fifth Avenue, stopping passersby in their tracks — all in black, moving like a woman half her age, still vibrant and gamine, still Liza. And damn if I don’t hear that tune: "You’re out of the woods/You’re out of the dark/You’re out of the night …"